A Warm Winter's Tale

I pull up to the sidewalk and step out of my car, more than a bit surprised to find you out on the driveway, shovel in hand. You ignore me as I approach, continuing to scrape and scoop snow from the cement as I approach.

"I told you I'd do that today."

"Couldn't wait." you reply, stifling a coy smile.

"I'm five minutes late."

"More like ten."

"Five." I repeat, taking the shovel from you. "Coffee, black." A swift smack to your rump sends you trotting in the direction of the front door, intentionally wiggling your shapely assets all the way.

I make fairly quick, if strenuous, work of the shoveling. I'm chilled to the bone, nevertheless as I enter to find you padding about the kitchen in your powder blue flannel pajamas and my white knee socks.

"Mmm." you respond as you pour and hand me a hot mug of java. "I'm down to one layer." You then go to the stove and lift some pastries from an oven pan using a spatula. You gaze momentarily at the instrument, no doubt considering its punitive possibilities, then hand me a dish on which you've placed two large, gooey sweet rolls. Closing my eyes, I breath in the enchanting aroma of cinnamon. "Trying to postpone the inevitable?" I ask with a wry hint of suspicion.

"More like basking in the suspense." you reply, bowing your head slightly, an infectious grin spreading across your blush-stained face.

"Delicious."

"You haven't even taken a bite."

"I'm talking about the suspense."

As I devour one of the rolls, your curious eyes find their way to the rather conspicuous bulge straining against the fabric of my pants.

"Who's your friend?" you inquire, raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on your hip.

"Oh, him?" I glance downward and shrug. "He always pops up at times like this."

"Looks like quite a handful."

"He can be."

"Can I meet him?" The tip of your tongue swipes your lower lip, as if to punctuate the question.

"First things first." I announce, placing the dish with one roll remaining next to the sink as I head in your direction.

Like a deer alarmed by some distant clatter, you turn and bolt from the room. You're almost to the den and well out of my reach when the smoothness of your socks against an uncarpeted section of floor causes you to lose traction. You slip and nearly fall allowing me to gain on you as you aright yourself. In a slightly giddy panic, you attempt fake me out to the left only to find my arms clasped firmly around your waist when you move right. Your feet flutter helplessly as I hoist and haul you into the bedroom.

Once there, the spirited, if half-hearted, struggle on your part concludes with me sitting at the edge of the bed. Having yanked down your pajama bottoms and panties during the brief conflict, I have simply to lift my left leg onto the bed and fling you across it. You land face first with a slight grunt followed by a breathless squeal as I land the first of several sharp swats to you bare, upturned fanny. The painful smacks come down hard and fast like a flurry of snow in a blizzard. You twist this way and that, attempting to break free, a situation I remedy by simply tightening left arm around your waist as I bring the spanking to a fevered pitch. Tears filling your eyes, you bury your face in the bed cover as you begin to sob and kick uncontrollably. For a further five minutes, though it seems like hours to you, I continue to mercilessly deliver smack after stinging smack to your fiery, jiggling buns. Grabbing handfuls of blanket, you gnash your teeth, hissing and howling in painful pleasure. You writhe and gasp, pressing yourself against me as the spanking segues into a deep tissue massage of your sore, radish-red bottom. My strong, knowing hand firmly kneads your moist, hot flesh, occasionally pausing to grip a cheek or squeeze a thigh.

"Your friend must be lonely by now." you moan in a low, raspy voice.

My response is to roll you off my leg and onto your back atop the bed as I stand and unbuckle my belt. Your hands fly to undo the buttons of your pajama top, nearly tearing a few off in the process. Within moments, I'm standing over your naked form with our clothing cuddled together around my feet. The sight is post card perfect- you lying there, warm and waiting, the soft midwinter light illuminating the room as a fresh supply of downy flakes begin to cascade outside.

"More snow." I say, climbing onto the edge of the bed.

"More shoveling, too." You agree with a slightly obscene giggle.

"And more of these shenanigans, I suspect." I add, taking your calves into my hands as I move forward with my friend, now fully swollen, stiffly bouncing and at the ready.